


Of Height, and Claiming

by oneatatime



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Phantom Menace happens between #2 and #3, Qui-Gon will always be the master, an 'everyone lives' AU, involves a collar, some fairly mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: Obi-Wan's master will always be his master.(And trousers full of Eopie feed will always smell.)





	Of Height, and Claiming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityabrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/gifts).

**1\. The Beginning.**

Obi-Wan liked Master Yoda. He really did, he told himself conscientiously. Master Yoda was a strict teacher, but he acknowledged achievement, even if he -

"The shorter route you must not take."

"But it's easier, and has the same result," Obi-Wan said mulishly, looking at the vegetable soup he'd left on Yoda's small wooden kitchen table. The pot steamed with it, and he'd laid out two bowls and spoons for them with symmetrical precision. Didn't matter that it didn't smell particularly appetising. It would nourish them both, and that was what mattered. "I mixed it all together and chopped it at once. It works!"

Yoda peered up at him, and as usual Obi-Wan was very aware that Yoda could kick his behind, and all the rest of his body parts, with one arm tied behind his back. Wearing a blindfold. While asleep.

He had things to learn from Yoda, but he chafed to be out in the galaxy. Doing good. Helping people!

"Take more time, find the quiet within, you must."

Obi-Wan ran a hand back through his short hair, and said the next part at the same time as Yoda.

"So I can truly understand." / "Truly understand, you must."

He sighed. His stomach was complaining, and his thighs were stiff from sitting so long. But he supposed he'd do it again. Perhaps he could compare the two, and get real scientific evidence about which way was better. He dutifully took his time, chopping the nala root separately from the others, and found himself... found himself studying more thoroughly just how the knife moved through the root as opposed to the orange leaves. How the tiny fibres separated when he applied the knife in this direction, or that direction. How the knife was old, and worn, with the balance not quite right just a finger's width above the centre. 

…so Master Yoda was correct. Adding the nala root to the boiling water earlier meant that it absorbed the water more quickly, and fell apart in the broth more thoroughly. The roots were quite noxious in themselves, for all their goodness for the body. But when spread throughout the dish, they added a hint of flavour that was surprisingly enjoyable.

He didn’t tell Master Yoda that Master Yoda was right, but he didn’t need to. Master Yoda just patted his shoulder as he walked past

* * *

Every now and then, a senior Jedi would come by. Obi-Wan liked a few of them well enough. Some of them had a certain spark that attracted him, that fit with his yearning to do _good_

They never seemed to want him. He’d really liked one, Ma’tah. They were barely taller than Obi-Wan, with blue skin. He wasn’t sure what species they were. It seemed rather rude to ask.

That one had a sense of joy that Obi-Wan felt was utterly perfect for him. Someone with neverending energy. Someone he could get excited with! They had a good talk in the swamps, while practising balance exercises. Obi-Wan did well enough and even picked up a new trick from this Ma’tah that saw him able to stand on the toes of one foot, with only his fingertips brushing against a fuzzy vine for balance, for over a minute. But matters with Ma’tah went nowhere, even though Ma’tah scruffed his hair affectionately as they left.

Yoda explained that it was to do with finding the right fit much more than a lack of merit, and that it was not unusual to have even ten, even fifteen, masters pass over a youngling.

Obi-Wan, who’d been passed over by seven at this point – seven! – was utterly horrified at the thought of waiting that long.

* * *

Then the next one arrived, and everything changed.

"I claim this padawan," Qui-Gon said in Yoda’s small kitchen.

Obi-Wan looked up at him with big eyes, with suds dripping from his hands. Yoda had taught him much. Yoda was also practically knee height on Obi-Wan, and this master was much taller. Perhaps when Obi-Wan graduated from him, he'd have a master who was ten feet tall. Perhaps when he became a Jedi himself, he’d shrink to smaller than Master Yoda.

He... wasn't quite sure if Jedi skill was related to height, but he confusedly decided not to ask, anyway. If he could be as tall as Qui-Gon one day, that would do.

Qui-Gon was nothing like Ma’tah, or the other masters. Some of whom Obi-Wan had quite liked, some of whom seemed – not unlikeable, but more challenging. Becoming a Jedi Knight was not about liking, after all. It was about being with someone who fit you, as Master Yoda had said. Someone who could help you with your difficulties (such as being impetuous and taking shortcuts). So it was quite acceptable that Qui-Gon was calm and very much not excitable.

Obi-Wan was glad, however, to see the glint of warm humour at the back of Qui-Gon’s eyes.

Yoda harrumphed. “Acceptable, this is. Dishes, you should finish, then pack, you should, Obi-Wan.”

He was very surprised to find himself near crying when it actually came time to leave Master Yoda. He was ready. Even Master Yoda thought so. His emotions should not have been a concern. Yoda frowned at him, but the touch of the leathery green hand on his arm was gentle.

**2\. Ilath, some years later. **

Quite a nice planet, really, though not one of Obi-Wan's favourites. The food was good, with a particular spiced meat sold on sticks that Qui-Gon had serenely refused to tell him the source of. The architecture was ornate and beautiful, with curlicues and fancifulnesses that drew the eye. To be plain was to show that you spent too much time on work and not enough time on the soul, so all the people were similarly ornamented. No clothes were plain, no faces were bare, no hair was simply washed and brushed.

It was fascinating, and quite alluring, but he was glad to be his plain self with his plain master. His soul was in good enough order, and the Jedi had work to do. 

He’d travelled to many planets with his master. Bespin, Hoth, a charming little sweep of unnamed planetoids with artificial gravity, amongst others… he’d travelled to many places for someone who was still very much just a padawan.

This place, though. This place meant that he’d have to stop being a padawan.

Everyone had a partner here. Absolutely everyone. Some had ten or twelve! It seemed to work well enough, and he was certainly old enough for it, but the problem was that they refused to listen to your advice or to accept you as a negotiator on behalf of someone else, unless you were partnered. It meant that you weren't even an adult! And since the earthquake of a few months previously which had destroyed the Hothen's grazing grounds, the only way to convince the Tespett to work together with them to share resources was to - to negotiate. 

"I say again, I claim this boy," Erazor declaimed, stepping forward. The long, oiled curls down his back swung in their jewelled ribbons as he moved. It was very pretty. And it was one of the many pretty things that Obi-Wan's mind kept clinging to, to try to avoid considering his horrible, horrible situation. Erazor flashed a smile at Obi-Wan, clearly thinking that he had resolved every problem and he was doing what Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon wanted. "And a third time. He is mine, and then my faction will act as he wishes." 

The truth sensor that hung above them in this enormous Chamber of Arrangement bonged gently, and remained blue. Erazor was telling the truth. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes were huge. This was going horribly, horrendously wrong. But he couldn’t say no and risk enraging this entire faction! A good Jedi never put his personal wishes ahead of those of the galaxy! Qui-Gon was allowing him to try this alone...

Erazor genuinely liked him... or at least he liked him well enough to fool the truth sensor. Therefore, it wouldn't be too bad. Erazor would have kindness for him, even if it wasn't like someone else's kindness- No. Don't think about that.

There was no one else who could take his place for Obi-Wan. He’d have to say goodbye to his life, to his plans, to – to his _master._

A chime sounded melodiously behind him, and his head jerked around. Qui-Gon had risen from his marvelously carved seat. He strode at a measured, unhurried pace towards them, and stopped in between Erazor and Obi-Wan. His Jedi robes swirled around him. 

"I am afraid that you cannot," Qui-Gon said, and the sound of his voice was the bedrock of calm resolution for Obi-Wan. "I have prior claim, and he is mine." 

Erazor tapped a fingernail on his chin, and turned to Obi-Wan. "And you agree to this?" 

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to manage his voice. Did Qui-Gon really want him? 

...the truth sensor was blue. 

Erazor bowed, one of the bows from the ninth level of attainment. Obi-Wan had only managed to memorise the first and second levels so far. 

"Then with much regret, I concede your claim. I wish you well. We shall, of course, work with the Hothen." 

***

"We must consummate, Obi-Wan."

"You don't, don't have to, master-?" 

"We should. To formalise matters; the Tespett and the Hothen will know it if we do not. You don't wish to?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again. There didn't seem enough room for all of his emotions, even though this apartment that they'd been granted was enormous by the usual standards. A Jedi shouldn't have emotions like this... but Qui-Gon seemed to manage just fine with his, and Obi-Wan knew him well enough by now to know that he did indeed have his own emotions. His own wants. 

"It's not that, master," he said. His voice was a bare husk.

Qui-Gon had such gentleness in his face. He reached out and drew Obi-Wan into his arms. "If I show you that I truly do desire you, will that assist?" 

"Y-yes." 

There was a jewelled collar being held before his eyes, and then slid around his throat. Dark brown leather. 

"While you wear this, your life is in my hands. I will care for you, I will treasure you, and you do not need to make any decisions whatsoever. Understood?" 

"_Yes,_" Obi-Wan said fervently, and was rewarded with the rich ripple of his master's laughter. He had no idea what to say next, and was rewarded with the fumbling words of a fool falling from his own lips. "Er. Will we require much time?" 

His master did not run. He did not burst into laughter. He did not explain how truly, Obi-Wan, this was something that everyone else knows by this point and it was quite shaming that you do not. 

"A Jedi needs to know how his body responds in all situations," Qui-Gon said serenely. "And there are no shortcuts, Obi-Wan. One must take the time to thoroughly understand every aspect of one's self before one can know how to utilise them. This will be less than a day, but more than an hour, and more than that I cannot say."

His master's hand was on Obi-Wan's wrist, and this in itself was wonderful. Obi-Wan knew how hopeless he was when touched gently, but he also knew he could trust his master to not take advantage of that. Qui-Gon led his hand up to the collar, and ran the pads of Obi-Wan's fingers across the smooth leather. 

Obi-Wan looked at him uncertainly as Qui-Gon let go, then he repeated the motion again. And once more, at Qui-Gon's nod. 

The leather, already warming to his body heat, was very comfortable under his fingers. The jewels felt cool and hard. He tugged at it lightly. Oh. Oh, that felt good.

Qui-Gon's mouth was on his, and he melted instantly against him. He knew in that moment that Qui-Gon did indeed both like and desire him, and he could never truly say no to his master. 

Qui-Gon kept the kiss relatively chaste for a time, then he licked into his pupil's mouth. Obi-Wan groaned around him. The lean length of Qui-Gon's body was pressed against his, and strong hands gripped his lower back. No - no, it was more of a cradle. 

He was held. Gentle, and safe, but also _firm._ He wasn't going to be allowed to get away from this due to his own ineptitude, or, as he made himself think - his master did not like him being unfairly negative about himself - due to his own anxieties. Qui-Gon would lead him through this. 

The taste of Qui-Gon's mouth was earthy, spiced with that same meat that they'd enjoyed earlier. Wild and comforting. 

Qui-Gon pressed a line of kisses along the line of his jaw, then sucked at Obi-Wan's earlobe. Obi-Wan made a strangled choking sound. 

"Bed," Qui-Gon said, laughing once more. He slipped his hands inside Obi-Wan's robes, and before long both of them were naked, tumbling onto the bed together. 

He had seen his master naked before, when dressing wounds, or dressing for the day. Not like this. Never like this. The ceiling was covered with intricate designs in greens and reds and purples and glorious gold, but he had no eyes for anything but the glory of his master atop him. 

A hand on his wrist again, and he found his own hand placed on his master's hip. He was allowed to touch. No, encouraged.

Obi-Wan was so very hard against his master's thigh. It was _delicious._

Gentle hands stroked down his shoulders, over his bare chest, then followed by a mouth. He gasped at the feeling of teeth and tongue against his skin, then squirmed at Qui-Gon expertly teasing a nipple into a peak. 

He would be marked later. It would be wonderful. 

Obi-Wan's seeking hand found his master's hardness. It was for him. _Him._

"Oh," he said intelligently, overcome.

"That's it, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his breath shaky. "Grip lightly, and rub the head." 

***

Perhaps ten minutes, perhaps a hundred, later, he shifted and made the tiniest wince. Qui-Gon immediately shifted his own angle, and the miniscule parts of Obi-Wan that were able to focus on anything but the wondering bliss of his master's body inside his, registered that once again Qui-Gon was showing care for him. His master always had, and always would. His master knew what was best. 

He reached a hand up to tug lightly at the collar around his neck once more, and Qui-Gon smiled at him.

Qui-Gon made a complicated motion. 

Obi-Wan exploded into pleasure, and Qui-Gon followed shortly thereafter. 

**3\. Coruscant, another handful of years later.**

"Obi-Wan. It feels like years."

Obi-Wan slipped off his shoes as he entered his master's temporary domicile, groaning under his breath at the relaxation involved in both of those. He smiled up at Qui-Gon - funny, he'd never quite attained his height, even though he was a full Jedi himself now - and nodded. "We've both been so busy. I've had some difficulty lately, but I'll manage." 

"Indeed. I know you are grown, and surely do not need my advice."

Obi-Wan laughed at that. His Master spoke so solemnly; his tongue so far in his cheek that it must nearly protrude from his ear. "I remember when matters seemed so complex, back on Naboo, when you were in charge and I had a tenth the responsibilities I do now. I manage, Master, but I am not egotistical enough to believe I will ever come to the point of not needing you. It was only earlier today that I found myself with trousers full of Eopie feed."

"Ah. That explains the smell." Qui-Gon's eyes were warm.

Obi-Wan made a rueful face at him, and sniffed at himself again. He'd washed three times - no, four - and surely that was sufficient? The last time, he'd scrubbed and scrubbed! But if he needed to, he could use Qui-Gon's small facilities. Whatever was in there, it'd be sufficient. His master was content to sleep on the ground when necessary, but if it was not necessary he was a man who enjoyed being clean and comfortable. Not to the point of luxury. Simply clean, and comfortable.

Obi-Wan couldn't find a trace of the disgusting scent, however.

...Had Qui-Gon always been so mischievous? "You're teasing me, Master."

"Indeed. As someone must, to avoid you becoming too full of yourself, now that you are a full knight."

Obi-Wan snorted. "Today's mishap with the runaway cart and the Eopie feed would have seen to that, if nothing else."

Qui-Gon’s laugh was music. “It is good to see you.”

Obi-Wan had more confidence, in himself, in the things he could do, in the things he could not do. He had taken from his master, and given to his master, and it would always be the most important relationship in his life. He no longer needed to rush. 

"Have you time?"

He enjoyed learning. He enjoyed the small sounds that Qui-Gon made when he tried this, or that. He enjoyed the way that Qui-Gon's body felt inside him, without any need to rush to an ending. It was not a race; there was pleasure in the journey. There was joy in the company. 

"More than enough."

Qui-Gon produced a familiar strip of worn leather. There was no need for haste, indeed.

* * *

"I claim you, Master," Obi-Wan told Qui-Gon from the bed, and his voice was deeper now, rougher, his heart full with the wisdom of experience. But he was still his Master's boy. He could still remember what it was to be claimed from Yoda, and then that first time, formally, in front of everyone on Ilath.

He finally understood how to live as a Jedi Knight. To master his emotions was not to have none, and there were times when it was entirely allowed to express said emotions.

Such as with his master.

Obi-Wan smiled, and lifted his arms. Qui-Gon stroked his cheek, and captured Obi-Wan’s lips with his own.


End file.
